


Uncover

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: M/M, Spanking, Unresolved Sexual Tension, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raph and Mikey discover spanking together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Raph’s open hand cracks against Mikey shell — close to his thighs, lower than he meant, because Mikey’s too squirmy — and Mikey gasps. There is something to it that is different, half-pain and half-something else, and Raph hesitates, his anger going quiet. Mikey turns to look at him, wide-eyed, mouth open to reveal the white shine of his teeth.

Before Mikey can make it weird, or maybe before Raph can, he thwacks Mikey upside the head. “Don’t do it again,” he says, not remembering anymore what Mikey’s transgression was.

Mikey rubs the back of his head and smiles, abashed. He licks his lips. “Geez, okay,” he says. “Mr. Grumpy Turtle.”

*

"I’m gonna get you!" Raph shouts, chasing Mikey through the hallway and into the living room. Mikey makes the mistake of hopping over the couch and running for the kitchen — Raph has power on his side. He launches just in time to catch Mikey around his legs, and they tumble down, Mikey screeching and flailing.

Raph rears up — he’s gonna kill Mikey, he’s gonna kill him — but then he’s struck by an idea, one that he doesn’t let himself think about before enacting. He slams Mikey’s face against the ground and then, before Mikey can even begin to struggle, slaps his shell. Mikey makes a muffled sound, somewhere between a yelp and a whine, and flails ineffectually; Raph doesn’t wonder if Mikey’s letting him.

He smacks him again, on his upper thigh, then again on his shell so the sound cracks through the air. Mikey twists under him, scrabbling at the ground, panting through his teeth. Raph’s hand smarts. He doesn’t bother counting, landing quick successive blows across Mikey’s thighs and shell, watching closely as Mikey’s face flushes. His noisy protests die down to plaintive little whimpers of pain.

Raph swallows and shakes the soreness out of his hand; he needs to say something, or feels like he should, but he wants to drag his finger up the imprints he’s left on Mikey’s thighs.

Leo laughs. “Are you spanking him?”

Raph startles, flopping away from Mikey. “No — I mean, yeah — he’s being a little turd.”

“Not fair,” Mikey protests, sitting up. He winces and stands, rubbing his shell. “Not cool, man. That really hurt.”

With a shake of his head, Leo snorts. “That does seem a little over-the-top,” he says, but Raph doesn’t miss the way Mikey glances at him, eyebrows raised, nor does he miss the way his face is just a shade darker than it should be.

Raph rolls his eyes and shoves his way past Leo. “Whatever,” he says. He heads for the dojo, and is not willing to look at Mikey as he goes.

*

Raph is breathing hard, and there’s no reason for it. He has Mikey bent over the kitchen table, ass up, legs skewed, and Mikey is whining, a high-pitched noise that Raph is trying to ignore while also trying to absorb it with every inch of his body.

"I said I was sorry," Mikey says, and squirms.

Raph tightens his grip on the back of Mikey’s neck. “Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he says. He cracks his hand against Mikey’s thigh, and Mikey jerks against the table and breathes out a soft noise. “You’ve been a real pain lately, you know that? And — and if Sensei’s not gonna discipline you — ” Except that’s ridiculous; Raph almost laughs, but catches it before it can get past his throat, so instead he just snorts. It even almost sounds derisive. Mikey tries to peer back at him, almost pathetic except it’s not a convincing look at all, he’s too bright, too still, isn’t fighting nearly as much as he should be.

Raph swallows back the awkward silence and fills it with another slap, hard enough that it stings, and Mikey’s body rocks with it. They can’t do this for long, not in the kitchen, where anyone could walk in without making a noise. Raph pushes that thought away, though; the implications make him uneasy, more than the warmth itching at the back of his neck or the difficulty he’s having catching his breath.

"Raph," Mikey says, and that’s enough to remind Raph to slap him again, on his other thigh, and then the bottom of his shell, where it cracks so loud that it startles him. Mikey shuts his eyes and rests his cheek on the table. Raph pauses just long enough to watch the skin darken where he hit him, then smacks him as hard as he can — the imprint of Raph’s hand glows on his thigh, perfect and distinct for a second before it fades into a painful blotch.

Mikey shifts against the table. Whimpers.

Raph licks his lips. He should say something. Mikey just broke his skateboard, and it’s going to be a pain to fix, and that’s more than enough reason to be mad, more than enough reason to pound him, and this isn’t anything strange, except it is, and Raph lets himself accept the strangeness of it long enough to slap him again, and again, and again, faster, his hand stinging and sore, Mikey’s quiet groans of — of protest — going straight to his gut, and Mikey’s hips rocking with each strike, and Raph’s whole body burning with, with anger, with something close enough to it that Raph can tell himself that’s what it is.

Then, Mikey moans, the kind of noise Raph has never heard from his brother, and Raph freezes. Eases his hold on Mikey’s neck, and slowly steps back.

"Raph?" Mikey straightens onto his elbows and glances back, shies away from meeting Raph’s eyes. "Sorry," he says, and then he says it again, and adds, "for breaking your skateboard, I mean. I can help fix it." He’s talking to the table, his neck is flushed, and Raph doesn’t know what he wants to do, can’t quite bring himself to stare at Mikey’s thighs even as he traces his finger up the back of one, so brief and light a touch that he can almost convince himself he hasn’t done it, except that when he does, Mikey goes so still that the whole lair might as well have gone still with him.

Raph clears his throat. “Heck no,” he says. “Donnie’ll do a better job. I’m gonna take it to him. The skateboard.”

"Sure," Mikey says, still not moving from the table. "Sorry," he says, again.

Raph swats the back of his head — there, that’s better, that’s normal — and relaxes a little when Mikey yelps in a familiar way and glares at him with a familiar pout and shoves him with his elbow. But when he goes to fetch his skateboard, it’s with a sore hand, and the prickling heat does not subside until he’s in the cool safety of Donnie’s workshop.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s getting desperate.

Not for — not for Mikey, not for more of this, but for the semblance of normalcy, something he can use to anchor himself. So when Mikey suggests they sneak out and skateboard in an abandoned construction zone, he jumps on the opportunity. Mikey’s fun to be with, when he’s not being annoying. It’ll be fine.

And it is fine, the two of them laughing and whooping as they shred the wobbly rails and outdo each other with tricks, improvised flips, one physics-defying move after another. Raph forgets whatever is happening inside of him — even when Mikey touches him, bumps into him, flicks his nose, the heat and confusion doesn’t return.

Then, true to form, Mikey ruins it: “Oh man, I am gonna spank you!” Something they’ve said hundreds of times, and as the jolt goes through Raph, Mikey is already off, pulling a tricky flip off a ramp.

Raph won’t be shown up. He shoots toward the ramp with a vicious laugh — hits the air, and — boom, smoke in his face, an acrid smell, and Raph loses all of his concentration and falls in a graceless heap on the ground, skids against the pebbles. Mikey is laughing, almost manic, when Raph scrabbles to his feet.

"Oh, I’m gonna get you!"

And they’re off, and — it should take longer — Mikey should be much, much harder to catch, but Raph tackles him and they scrape along the ground, and Mikey’s trying not to laugh and it’s making his whole body shake, and he’s already lifting his hips and spreading his thighs and Raph’s hand is moving before he can think to stop it.

He smacks Mikey’s thigh so hard that his body rocks. Mikey yelps and arches his back. His elbows scratch against the ground.

"That’s right," Raph says through gritted teeth. "That’s what you get for messing with me!" Even as he says it, he’s aware of how flimsy it is. He hits Mikey again, higher, right at the juncture of his shell, and Mikey whimpers, pushes back.

Raph holds him down with his shell, smacks again — and again, until his hand is stinging and Mikey is whining low in his throat. When he pauses to take it in, Mikey’s thighs are glowing; a shudder runs through Mikey, makes the taut muscles of his legs shake.

He looks over his shoulder at Raph — he’s biting his lip, which is enough to make Raph’s pulse start between his legs, steady and strong. “Sorry,” he says. “I’m real sorry, Raph,” but he’s not sounding sorry at all — he’s breathless, and smiling just a little.

"Not yet," Raph says. He swallows. Touches the back of Mikey’s thigh, traces it, and Mikey lowers his head and whimpers. His cock extends, dropping slowly between his legs, and Raph pauses to watch it, mouth open.

He turns his head away long enough to collect himself, then turns back, pulls his arm back, and cracks it against Mikey’s shell.

There’s a rhythm to it — like there would be if he were — if he were fucking him, not quite steady, the strike, the helpless jerk of Mikey’s body, the pain in his hand that is hot, that burns too in his stomach. He slides his free down Mikey’s back — slips it around his hips — when his fingers brush at Mikey’s cock, he comes, just like that, with a groan that echoes.

Raph sits back on his heels, aware of how his ankles are nestled against his cloaca. He has to fight the urge to grind down.

"Mikey," he says.

Mikey slumps onto the ground, panting. He reaches back and rubs his thigh — his finger slides higher, between his legs, rubs at his slit for a moment before pulling away. Raph shuts his eyes, but the image is already seared there.

When he opens his eyes, Mikey is watching him, all anticipation, almost shy. “Dude,” Mikey says, “did you…?”

Raph stands — and he’s going to turn his back and walk away, fetch his skateboard, hurry him, but Mikey lurches to his knees and grabs at Raph’s thighs.

"Hey," he says, "hey, let me — I was — bad, right, so I should — ?"

Raph doesn’t think anyone could say no, not when Mikey is already leaning up between Raph’s legs, fumbling a kiss to Raph’s slit. His cock drops, right against Mikey’s cheek, and Mikey hums in the back of his throat and nuzzles it, presses a wet kiss to the underside of the head, and that’s all that Raph needs to come.

He covers his face, takes a step back. When he drops his hands, Mikey is slowly wiping the white droplets of come from his cheeks and mouth.

Raph shudders.

"I should," Raph says, and turns. "I’m gonna — just — " But the words won’t come; this time, Mikey does not move to stop him, doesn’t speak.

Raph hurries out into the city, into the humid air — he flings himself across the rooftops, scrapes his hands against the brickwork and slams onto the jagged metal of fire escapes until the pain in his hand could be from anything at all.


End file.
